


The Hogwarts Express

by FantasticNumberNine



Series: John Watson and the Philosopher's Stone [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Because I can, Crossover, Gen, John Watson and the Philosopher's Stone, John Watson is the boy who lived, Potterlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 13:46:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1901262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasticNumberNine/pseuds/FantasticNumberNine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson always thought he was an ordinary boy until he received his Hogwarts letter. Now, suddenly, he's famous for something he doesn't remember, and everyone seems to know who he is. Fortunately, he is able to find a friend in Greg Lestrade aboard the Hogwarts Express!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hogwarts Express

**Author's Note:**

> Been wanting to do this for a bit now. This will likely be the first of many glimpses into what will hopefully be a chronological exploration of John Watson in Harry Potter's robes. (Characters and settings are not mine, obviously.)

John Watson, aged eleven, had lived with his aunt, uncle, and cousin for as long as he can remember--ever since his parents died in a car crash when he was one year old, the very same crash where he received the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead. But after a week of mysterious letters arriving from nowhere, and a giant, hairy, man showing up at the hut on the rock out at sea with the letter he finally had a chance to read, John was somewhat shocked to learn that all the strange things he'd done over the last ten years (like vanishing the glass and freeing a giant snake at the zoo) were due to his being a wizard--just like his parents--and he was invited to attend a magical school for witchcraft and wizardry called Hogwarts. 

Standing between Platforms 9 and 10 at King's Cross Station where his uncle had left him however, John couldn't help but think it was all a terrible joke, a bad dream where he'd wake up still in the cupboard under the stairs. He stared down at his ticket, hoping for an explanation. Platform 9 3/4. First of September. Eleven o'clock. Hogwarts Express. One way. And everyone he'd asked thought he was crazy. 

And then, "Always the same of course, packed with muggles--"

Spinning around, he saw a woman with greying hair surrounded by an alarming amount of boys--around half a dozen, it was hard to tell as only an older looking boy seemed content not racing around the station. Backing away slightly, John watched as their mother (he assumed) herded the boys together and into (relative) stillness, and upon recounting saw that there were only four boys, two of them appeared to be twins, and all of them had varying shades of silver-grey hair. 

They had to be wizards.

Realization aside, seeing the oldest walk right through the solid, brick layered, archway between platforms 9 and 10 made his jaw drop. The twins went through at a run. Blinking, John leapt forward with his trolley, interrupting the youngest before they all disappeared and left him behind.

"Excuse me? Sorry, but... I was wondering, er, how..."

"How to get onto the platform? First year at Hogwarts? My Gregory's as well; now all you have to do is go straight through that wall, go on now, before Gregory."

John stared at her.

"Best take it at a run if you're nervous, dear."

That absolutely did not make him feel any less nervous about running at a solid brick wall, but, steeling himself (and feeling the other boy's amusement), John closed his eyes, and ran at the wall all while bracing himself for the inevitable impact.

It never came. Opening his eyes revealed the crowded platform and the gleaming engine of the Hogwarts Express. Gaping at his surroundings, he dragged his trunk forward onto the train and down the car until he found an empty compartment--where he struggled to heave his trunk in the overhead bin.

As the train pulled away from the station, one of the silver haired boys--the youngest, Gregory, poked his head in, glanced around and gestured to the empty seats around John. "May I? Only, everywhere else is full up."

"Yeah, sure."

"Name's Greg Lestrade."

"Not Gregory?"

"Eugh, no. Only mum and my great aunt Muriel call me that."

"Right... Greg it is. I'm John. John Watson."

Greg, who'd been very cool and lounging casually across his side of the compartment, nearly fell to the floor. 

"What! Really?"

John furrowed his brow, "Er, yes?"

"Merlin. Sorry. Mum would say I'm being rude, but... Do you really have that scar?"

Wanting a bit to tell the boy to sod off, but also rather desperately wanting a friend, John pushed his messy blond fringe away from his forehead just long enough for Greg to see.

"Wicked." 

Later, as they were working their way through the haul of sweets John had bought excitedly--Greg had been a bit embarrassed initially, but John's enthusiasm was infectious--the door to their compartment slid open and a mousy girl asked them if they hadn't seen a toad named Trevor. Mouths full of pumpkin pasties, the boys shook their heads no and the girl left with a teary sigh.

Greg was about to attempt a bit of magic, the twins had told him a spell to turn his pet rat yellow, when they were interrupted once more by the mousy girl, this time accompanied by a tall, auburn haired boy with a pained look of resignation on his round face. 

"Have either of you seen a toad? Molly appears to have lost hers..." The boy's eyes narrowed in on Greg's battered wand, suspended mid-movement, before lighting on Greg with a slightly excited gleam. "Well, let's see it then."

Greg stared. "Sorry?"

"You were about to perform a spell. I intend to watch."

"Right..." Greg glanced at John before clearing his throat dramatically. "Sunshine daisies, butter-mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow!"

John leaned forward to look, but nothing had happened. Greg's rat was still grey, but he didn't seem too bothered if his huff of laughter was to be believed.

The new boy, however, "That wasn't a real spell."

Greg looked up to glare at the boy. "What's it to you?"

"Nothing, I suppose. Apologies." He reached out on hand, "Mycroft Holmes."

Greg eyed him suspiciously, and John, with an indiscreet roll of his eyes, took the offered hand. "John Watson. He's Greg Lestrade."

John found himself immediately under the intensely scrutinizing gaze of Mycroft Holmes and fought the urge to squirm. The boy wasn't as intimidating as he seemed to believe he was. 

"You grew up with muggles."

"Er, yeah..."

"They don't like you."

John's face burned red, "How would you know?"

"The same way I know you spent the last nine, no, ten years, living in the--"

John was on his feet and shoving Mycroft Holmes out of their compartment, slamming the door closed, before sliding down to the floor. Greg dropped down next to him.

"So... What do you know about quidditch?"

John observed his trainers a moment longer before responding. "Absolutely nothing."

Greg jumped to his feet and pulled John up with him, tossing him a chocolate frog as they resumed their proper seats and launched into an exuberant explanation of quidditch that kept them occupied until they were, once again, interrupted by a trio of boys. John recognized the smallest one from his trip to Diagon Alley.

With a disturbing lack of concern for etiquette, the dark haired boy from Madame Malkin's sat down next to John and snagged a box of Bertie Botts Every Flavoured Beans, popping a few into his mouth as the two goonish boys stood awkwardly in the open doorway.

"Er, hello?"

The boy grinned. "Hi!"

John glanced at Greg, who looked just as confused as he probably did.

"I heard that John Watson was on the train, sitting in this very compartment!"

John was beginning to tire of people reacting to his name. "Yeah. That would be me."

"I assumed." He snaked an arm around John. "Jim Moriarty." He glanced at Greg with a vague sneer, "No need to ask who you are, my father says the Lestrade's all have old man hair, hand-me-down clothes, and more kids than they can afford--"

"Oi!" Greg's wand was back out, but he hesitated when the two boulderish boys growled, flexing their large arms.

Jim Moriarty seemed not to notice, his arm still around John's shoulders. "You'll soon find out that some wizarding families are better than others, Johnny. I wouldn't want you making friends with the wrong sort--let me help you there."

John stood up, freeing himself from the boy's arm. "I can tell the wrong sort for myself. Get out."

Moriarty stood with a cheerful grin, waving his heavyset companions away before turning to face John, his smile surprisingly menacing for an eleven year old boy.

"Last chance Johnny. Your parents fell in with the wrong sort too. Sickeningly noble, and boring."

"I'll take my chances."

And then he was gone.

"What an absolute prick. Him and that Holmes kid."

John nodded, "Yeah."


End file.
